Icicles
by Shira Lansys
Summary: There's an entire canyon between them - a canyon covered in ice. On one side is Sirius, fighting an unwinnable war, and on the other is Remus, cowering against his will and unable to reach the man he once loved. It will be their last fight. RemusSirius


**Title: Icicles  
Pairing: RemusSirius  
Challenge: Your Favourite Couple Challenge  
For Naomi. I know it's not the happy story I've promised you, but I hope it'll do in the meantime. **

* * *

"You're late." Frosty mist forms around those cold, cold words, and icicles dangle from their enunciations; icicles so long and heavy that they drag the words to the floor, where they writhe, withered and dying on the carpet at Remus' feet. The werewolf doesn't even spare them a glance as he walked by. They're not new.

"I know. There was trouble. I couldn't leave without raising suspicion – that is, more suspicion than that which already surrounds me."

His voice is weary, matching the haggard lines in his face and the tired slump of his shoulders. Once, such physical expressions of the strain he was under might have instantaneously evaporated the chill in the air and the doubt in Sirius' eyes. Now, the animagus' voice just hardens. "You could have got hold of a wand and sent a Patronus," Sirius says.

"Oh, yeah, that would have been a great lookout," replies Remus, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Why not show the barbaric werewolves that barely accept me just how great my education was. Perhaps I should try and teach them advanced transfiguration as well, just to _really_ rub their noses in the fact that I've lived a life of luxury while they've been slumming it in the harsh reality of Werewolf Containment Camps."

"An owl, then," Sirius says, annoyed by the tone Remus has taken. "You were supposed to back _two days _ago. I thought you were dead."

"Not too grieved by the idea, then," Remus spits out bitterly, "if the first words I'm greeted with are 'You're late'."

A sharp reply flies to Sirius' lips, but with great effort he bites it back. The worst thing about Remus' words is that they ring true; far too true for Sirius' tastes. He remembers the first time Remus had walked through that door, looking a little worse-for-wear after his first month in the Camps. He'd been ragged and dirty and exhausted, but he'd had a smile on his face and a laugh at the tip of his tongue once Sirius had made effort to coax it from him. They'd kissed for nigh on ten minutes before Remus had protested that he hadn't had a wash in weeks. Sirius had taken it as a challenge and helped him shower, and despite their hard separation they'd felt just the same as ever.

He watches as Remus crosses to the fridge and takes a gulp of Sirius' favourite muggle beer which is always kept well-stocked. The werewolf sighs and closes his eyes in pleasure. When he opens them, he must see Sirius' watching him because he raises the bottle and says bitterly, "First taste of humanity in a month. Best mouthful I've ever had."

Once, that would have melted Sirius anger. He might have replied by crossing the room and embracing his boyfriend. He might have raised one eyebrow cockily and said with a smirk, "Even better than me?" He might have allowed the words that are bubbling in the back of his mind to burst forth, and he'd bury his head in Remus' shoulder as he tells him how he, James and Lily fought Voldemort last week, and Remus would have stroked his hair while Sirius told him how scared he'd been.

But there is a gap between them that neither of them could cross, so he just sits there like a statue, watching as his supposed boyfriend crosses to the cupboard and rifles through it until he finds a packet of crisps. He hungrily shoves some in his mouth before flopping down on the couch. "Saw Voldemort the other day," he mumbles through his food. "Not the prettiest bloke I've ever seen."

"You're kidding?" This grabs Sirius attention like nothing else could have. "What did he want?"

There is something intimately wrong about that response, and they both know it. Not 'Are you okay?' or even 'Did you fight him?' Those would have shown concern. Sirius' question is more of an accusation than anything else.

"Recruiting," Remus says. "He's already got a lot of us on his side. The visit just tipped the scales. Almost all of them are at the Death Eater's beck and call, now."

'_Us'_, Sirius can't help noting. _Not 'them'. 'Us'._

Because there is the underlying problem, Sirius knows. Once, he'd promised Remus that he would never, _ever_ think differently of his friend because he was a werewolf. But that was when he was sixteen, and his teenage self hadn't had the ability to see into the future.

And Sirius _tries_ to assuage the guilt. He _attempts _to tell himself that it isn't because Remus is a werewolf; it's just because he spends so much time in the werewolf Camps. The smaller part of Sirius that still thinks with a sixteen-year-old mind replies that it doesn't matter; a few years ago – hell, six months ago – Sirius would never even have considered the idea that Remus could be a traitor. But it is _someone _in the order, and they already know Remus is almost a double agent. He'd be more susceptible than most….

"So what did you do?" Sirius asks. There's the accusation, almost completely revealed. _'Did you go over to him?' _is the unspoken question that lies underneath it. _'Or were you already beside him, advocating as his supporter?' _

"I hid under my tarp," Remus shrugs. "I might not carry a wand, but certain mannerisms show that I have the ability integrate myself into regular society. Like the fact I still don't feel comfortable walking on all fours. I thought it best not to draw his attention to myself."

"How many Death Eaters did he have with him?" Sirius asks, at the same time Remus crosses over the fridge and calls out "Any steak?"

"In there somewhere," Sirius says. He isn't sure why he hasn't mentioned his own encounter with Voldemort, or even if he's going to.

"Found it." Remus pulls out a cut. "There were two, but they had their masks on. Oh, and Fenrir Greyback, but he's a wolf. He just never comes to the Camps unless it's Death Eater business."

"You could have taken them."

Sirius doesn't know why he says that, but the bit is chafing. He's been fighting hoards of Death Eaters all month, struggling to get out alive most times. He watched the Prewetts fall on Tuesday, and they never got up again. _Oh Merlin_, he remembers, _I'll have to tell Remus about the Prewetts_. How they were killed by Death Eaters. Maybe the very same pair that had stood in front of Remus, unprepared and nearly undefended, there for the taking. And Remus did nothing.

"Against two Death Eaters plus _Voldemort_?" Remus asks, slapping the steak on a frying pan. He doesn't even wait for the pan to heat up. "Wandless? And then having to fight my way out a camp of furious werewolves? Were you not listening when I said they're _all _on the Death Eater's side, now? Besides, Dumbledore told me to lie low and try and recruit the most likely ones, not get myself killed throwing myself unarmed on Voldemort himself."

"You said yourself," Sirius argues, "that the werewolves don't know any magic, and almost none of them have wands. Don't pretend that they were a threat."

"Oh, they're a threat," Remus says, poking his steak impatiently. Sirius can tell without even looking at him that he's struggling to keep his voice neutral. "You don't need wands to kill someone. You don't even need weapons, apparently. Humans are surprisingly fragile, and werewolves are surprisingly good at tearing them apart with their hands."

Sirius turns to face him, a look plastered on his face that is half disgusted, half disbelieving. "Oh, I've seen it," Remus assures him. "Not pretty."

"And you didn't think to stop it?" Sirius asks.

"It was a while ago," Remus says, not indifferently. "One of the first Death Eaters who tried to recruit. They sent someone who hated werewolves and wasn't afraid to say so. I didn't think I was doing the world such a disservice by letting it happen. One less Death Eater to kill you and Lily and James, I remember thinking to myself at the time."

He pulls the steak from the pan and places it on a plate. He goes to walk towards the sofa again, but at the last minute doubles back to grab a knife and fork. "Look," he says, taking a seat. "Can we not talk about it? I've just spent a whole month there. I've returned to civilisation in search of company that's more… well, civilised."

"Sure," replies Sirius, but as he speaks he watches Remus cut into his steak. His utensils are clumsy, as if he's almost forgotten how to use them, and red blood seeps out of the meat. It's then that Sirius realises the food is more raw than cooked. He wrinkles his nose.

"So any news?" Remus asks.

"Harry turns one, next month," Sirius says. It's not quite avoiding the question; Sirius prefers to think of narrowly evading the questions' strangling grasp. 'Evading' is a much nicer word.

"Yeah, I'm hoping to get away for it," is Remus' answer. "Or at least pop in around the time."

"I'm getting him a toy broom." Sirius actually hadn't planned to, but now it seems a good idea.

"James will approve."

"Lily will hate me, though."

There should have been a grin, following that last comment. From one of them, if not both of them. But there isn't, because there's nothing funny left in the world. Their relationship is a shambles – if you can even call it a relationship. He never even sees Remus any more. _Voldemort _sees more of Remus than Sirius does. And Sirius has to wonder if the Dark Lord isn't seeing more of the werewolf than what Remus is saying.

Remus reaches down to put his plate on the table, but forgets about the bottle he'd put there earlier. In slow motion it tips off the table and falls to the thick carpet, drops of liquid flying out to match its arc of descent.

"Great," Sirius says, frowning at the wet patch on the carpet rather than the person he'd like to glare at – Remus himself. "Now I have to clean it up."

Remus shoots him an annoyed look, the first sign so far that Sirius' attitude is beginning to grate on him. "No, I'll get it," he replies. "Can you remember what I did with my wand?"

"It's _your _wand," Sirius replies shortly. "You should know what you've done with it. You should have it on you; Death Eaters could burst through that door at any moment, and you'd be helpless."

"I've just walked in the door, Sirius. Besides, I don't want to get used to relying on it. I have to go back to not having one in a few days."

"A few days?" Sirius yelps. "I thought you'd have a week!"

"Yeah, well I stayed a few days longer, didn't I?" Remus replies, searching in the hidden compartment of the coffee table. "And I can't risk being away for too long, not with things the way they are…." He checks under the couch, and straightens up. "Seriously, where is it?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Sirius demands. "Look- _Scourgify!_ Never mind. I've done it."

Remus ignores him. "I must have left it in the bedroom…."

Sirius follows him into the other room. "You could say thank you," he says. "It's not like I've done you a favour or anything."

"I _said_ I'd get it," Remus replies angrily, "seeing as it's such a big deal. Aha! Found it! It was in our bedside table; how could you not know where it was?"

"I don't know, maybe I don't go in there that often."

"Well thanks for nothing, anyway."

"Oh, so you'll thank me for that, but not for cleaning up your mess."

"I didn't ask you to do that. I _did _ask you to help me find my wand, which you all but ignored."

"Well perhaps I thought you'd have put it somewhere where I couldn't find it. Somewhere secure. Somewhere where a Death Eater couldn't find it if they happened to attack the flat."

"The draw only opens to our touch, you'll remember," Remus replies icily. "I thought that was safe enough."

"Bravo. Now you only have to remember where it is you're putting it, and it'll be sorted. Now you've got it, I don't suppose you can clean up the mess you've left in the kitchen, or would you like me to do that for you too?"

"What is your problem?" Remus rounds on Sirius. "You've done nothing but complain bitterly ever since I've gotten in. I would say you've just been in a bad mood, but now I come to think about it, you've been like this the last few times I've been home as well."

"Yeah, well I've been watching the world fall to pieces, haven't I?" Sirius bit back. "You might have the luxury of hiding under a tarpaulin when he comes knocking, but I've had to fight him, haven't I? I had to watch him kill Fabian and Gideon, and I couldn't do a damned thing. And then you stroll in-"

"Fabian and Gideon?" Remus asks. He's gone pale, and he puts his arm on the wall for support. "They're dead?"

"Weren't you listening?" Sirius snarls. "I _watched them die_. I've been _fighting_, which is more than I can say for you-"

"You don't think I want to be out there?" Remus yells back, and colour returns to his cheeks as his spirit does. "You think I don't wish it's me throwing curses at Death Eaters, rather than bowing to them and letting them walk on by! At least you get to _do_ something. At least you know that no matter what, Lily and James are safe! That no matter what, they'll be alright, because you can protect them. When I'm not hunting for rats to eat, I spend my time wondering whether, when the time comes, whose body I'll be coming home to – theirs or yours!"

He'd placed his wand on the bed and he goes to pick it up, intending to clean up the dishes like Sirius had asked him to. He doesn't miss that his actions are mirrored – and beaten by a millisecond – by Sirius, whose hand reaches for his own wand in his back pocket. As Remus places his wand in his own pants, Sirius tries to cover up the movement by pretending he was scratching, but Remus sees it.

_So that's how it is, is it? _Remus thinks. _He doesn't even trust me not to attack him. _His eyes meet Sirius', and more is said in that gaze than they could have said with a thousand words.

"I think I'm done here," he says, with far more calm than the situation demanded.

"Remus…," Sirius went to say. Remus waited patiently for him to follow it up with something – even a simple apology – but no more words were forthcoming. The werewolf looked at him, and saw that his hand was stretched out to reach for Remus, but was grasping at air instead. That's what their relationship was now, he mused. Empty gestures.

"You can have my half of the stuff," he says, forcing his mind onto the practical aspects. He has to pause to steady his voice. "And anything you don't want, you can sell. Where I'm going, I won't be needing it."

"Where are you going?" Sirius asks.

"Werewolf Camps," Remus says. "I know Dumbledore wanted me to live there full time from the very beginning, but he never asked it of me. I think he knew I'd say no. But now I don't have any other ties, so I might as well be of some use to the Order."

He glances at the wand in his pocket. "I would ask you to look after my wand," he says, and the first trace of resentment is buried deep in his voice, despite the ferocity of their arguments so far, "but I don't want to inconvenience you."

"No, Remus, I-"

"Forget it," Remus interrupts. "I'll ask Dumbledore to mind it. I need to speak with him anyway." He pulls on his coat – the coat he'd only just taken off. "I suppose this it, I guess."

"I loved you, Remus."

"You don't need to say it." His voice is harsh. "And I won't say it back. Don't tarnish the memories, Sirius. They're all I have now. You'll have Lily and James and Pete, and this flat and the Order and a future, so I don't expect you to understand. I don't have that anymore; I haven't had that for a long time. Please, just let me keep the memories." And he's shut the front door behind him before Sirius can even retort.

_If he's the spy, _his mind whispers in the silence, _you'll have done the right thing._

_And if he isn't, _Sirius thinks back, _I've just ruined everything._

* * *

That's the last time the pair speak, before October. It's the last memory of Remus that Sirius will have for twelve years, and he'll relive it every night in Azkaban.


End file.
